[DISCONTINUED] I Believe

Chapter 2- Portal Sickness Sucks -or- Russians Are Scary

Disclaimer: I donut own RotG

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I tried to jump to my feet, but I almost toppled out the window in my haste.

"Peter?" I asked quietly, though I felt like I was about to explode with excitement. Finally, someone had showed up! I didn't even care if it wasn't Peter, it could be Amos or Sam or anyone. Please be a Lost Boy, I begged in my mind as I swiveled on my good leg to look behind me.

"Whoa! Lets not go falling out of any windows here!" The voice was unrecognizable.

I tilted my head to the side. In my room, just inside the window, was a teenage boy. That fact alone made my heart sink. It couldn't possibly be a Lost Boy. They never grew up. I myself, being one for a long time, aged very slowly, and I healed incredibly fast. If I had stayed in the normal world, I would be twenty nine, and if I aged normally I would be twenty two, but I was still only seventeen, and my time with the Boys made me a child at heart, and I thought I would stay like that forever.

The teen had silvery-white hair and pale skin, but his eyes were hidden in darkness. He was wearing a blue sweatshirt with some sort of silver embroidery. And those were the normal parts of his getup. He was wearing tattered brown pants and he had no shoes on- in my room! My room was freaking fifty degrees! I was only barefoot to inspect my injuries, not because I was crazy. He was also holding a wooden shepherd's crook that had little silver lines all over it.

I looked at him carefully. "Who're you?" I picked up my knife from the floor and rubbed the blood onto the rags from the inside, preparing to defend myself but still managing to act casual, like mysterious teenage boys appeared in my room every night.

He looked slightly incredulous. "You can see me, but you don't know who I am?"

I snorted and rolled my eyes, sweeping my hair over my shoulder. "I don't have many visitors. Who. Are. You?"

He almost smirked at me. Smirked? "I'll let you figure it out for yourself."

I huffed and almost crossed my arms before remembering I was in my underwear, and I didn't want my shirt to ride up. "Quit with the dramatics." I stepped off the windowsill and shivered as my feet touched the ice cold floor. "I'm really not in the mood." My tally marks were itchy, and it was taking all my self control not to touch them. I brushed past him and sat on my bed, tucking my legs under me and pulling my blanket onto my lap.

He turned. "You really don't know?" He sounded like he was on the verge of despair, and his voice was filled with disbelief.

"Look mister, unless you're someone from my school, I don't know you."

He deflated. "Oh. Well, I'm Jack Frost."

I almost burst out laughing but held it in when I saw how serious he was. "Really?" I almost got curious. Then the feeling faded and I pressed my lips into a thin, pale line. "If you're here to make me feel ridiculous, it's working. Just go ahead," I raised my chin, waiting for pain, unflinching.

He seemed confused. "Um, 'go ahead', what?"

"Hit me." I paused. "That's why you're here, right? To beat up the freak?"

He jerked back slightly. "What? No! Who would do that?"

I shrugged and looked at him, very conscious of the fact that my holey blanket was the only thing covering my scarred legs, and they were not pretty. "A lot of people. But usually on the street, not in my house. How'd you get up here anyway, mister-mystery?" Maybe I could get out the same way he got in!